


Ladies and Gentlemen, This is Love Potion no. 5

by babbyspanch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean you need to go to therapy, First Kiss, Jealous Dean, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Mutual Pining, just dean having self esteem issues, love potion, there is NO sastiel in this fanfiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29836191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babbyspanch/pseuds/babbyspanch
Summary: Cas gets drenched with a mystery potion from the ‘love spell’ shelf and... Dean has a sneaking suspicion, angel or no— the spell may have taken effect. And Cas might be in love with Sam.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 34
Kudos: 548





	Ladies and Gentlemen, This is Love Potion no. 5

They’ve come back to the bunker mid-hunt. Sam is sure they have a perfect potion to take the son of a bitch out, but they have to dig through a room full of a million vials to find it. The archives are a mess and Sam and Cas disagree on exactly where the giant old books are pointing them. But Cas seemed sure and picked a wider area so Dean was his back up, trying to keep the description of the potion clear in his mind. Green or something. Probably.

And then.  _ Crash _ .

Dean whips around to check on Cas, whose shocked face blinks back at him. It seems kind of normal until the smell wafts over, something electric and sugar sweet at the same time. Dean makes a face and gives Cas a once over. It’s only then he sees the cracked vial in Cas’s hands.

It’s absolutely soaked through Cas’s trench, bright pink and slimier than water. Gold sheen zips through the fluid, eye catching and flighty. Cas wipes it off with that look on his face that isn’t quite pouting but holds displeasure heavy in it. He shakes it off his fingers and it splats on the ground with the shards of the glass he must have dropped in shock after it shattered in his hands.

“Cas,” Dean says, low and deliberate, “Cas, was that from the love potion shelf? The one you and Sam warned me— upon pain of death— to not touch?”

Sam’s head had snapped up when the sound of the vial cracking echoed around the tall ceilings of the bunker and now his eyes are the size of golf balls as he rushes over, hands up and ready to help before he is even in touching distance. Dean holds a hand out to stop him absentmindedly, wary of the glass. Sam stops short of Dean’s hand, tilting his head.

“Cas..?” Sam’s mouth folds in on itself and Cas still hasn’t looked up to meet their eyes from where they have fixed on the shattered glass.

“I. Believe it was. Yes.”

Dean swears. Cas echoes him, still not looking up. The pink liquid gives another odd gold shimmer. Dean thinks it looks fucking smug.

“Okay. We can handle this!” Sammy says, panicked edge lancing his tone, “We just have to figure out the serial number and cross reference with the catalogue and then—“

“It’s fine.” Cas says, through gritted teeth as he finally raises his eyes, flickering between the two of them, “It will be okay.”

Dean has a half moment of fury, sure this is some self-sacrificial Castiel bullshit for a moment before he remembers his angel lore. 

“Oh. Yeah because of your whole.” Dean wiggles his fingers at Cas. “Angel emotions, thing.”

Cas blinks his eyes at him, eyebrows drawing together. Confusion and Castiel would forever go hand in hand, it seemed.

“Cas. You don’t feel emotions like we do.” Dean gestures to the remains of the vial, “And there’s no way that was brewed with angel mojo in mind. Who would want to trick an angel into falling in love with them? Sounds like an easy road to getting smote to me.”

His jaw clicked at the end of his words, joint tight. He’d have to try that massage he heard about on it later. Something about earlobes? Not important.

“Point is— we just gotta be careful on clean-up and everything should be okey-dokey.”

Cas blinks at him again, confusion gone to make room for all that blank space on his face. He blinks a second time. “Right. My angel emotion thing.”

Sam makes a noise beside Dean, who hasn’t turned back to look at him, “That’s… that’s a real thing?”

“Yeah.” Dean says, confident. “That Naomi chick told me about it. And that other one—“ He flaps his hand, trying to remember. “Ah, whatever. I think she was blonde or something?”

Sam and Cas both blink at him this time. Dean huffs and spins on his heel to go get the broom. “Don’t step on the glass— I’m not stitchin’ up anybody's feet.”

<3<3<3

The next week is… tense is maybe not the right word. Sam had given in to Dean’s superior angel knowledge and hadn’t gone hunting through the catalogues. Dean was thankful for the dusting alone— those archives were a total mess. And he sort of had his hands full of prickly angel at the moment.

Not  _ literally _ , obviously. Just Cas was being a little bitchier than normal. Not exactly biting off heads, but not doing his normal lazy-between-cases routine. Mostly that consisted of sitting on the bench outside when the sky was clear and tipping his face toward the sun. On rainy days he’d hunker down inside, coiling all the loose blankets he could find around the bunker onto the couch, burrowing deep and asking softly what movies Dean would recommend. 

Dean would inevitably plop down next to Cas and load up one of his favourites and stay to watch the first ten minutes, which became thirty, which became an hour, which turned into salvaging a blanket from Cas’ hoard and wrapping himself in it for the rest of the movie. He’d inevitably make popcorn and put a second or third one on after that.

Sometimes Cas’s foot would even find itself brushing near Dean’s thigh. But they didn't mention that. Cas had never understood what was appropriate as far as other people's space went. But on those nights, Dean was always too tired to correct him.

And anyway, they hadn’t had movie night since the last hunt. So it didn’t really matter what Cas’ normal activities consisted of— he was just off. Really, really off.

Dean finally went to talk with Sam about it and compare angel notes.

“What are you talking about, Dean? He’s been the same with me.”

Dean feels a frown edge onto his face before he smooths it out. “What? Really?”

“Yeah, man. We still do our silent reading in the library.” Sam has a hint of a laugh when he calls it that, just like always. Something about the banality of first grade reading terms while researching monsters that would disembowel you seemed to tickle him pink. “And he came along for the farmers’ market like always. Seemed really happy to be outside.”

_ And not around you _ , Deans mind hissed. He ignored it.

“Huh. You sure?”

“Pretty sure, Dean. He made ants on a log the other day and laughed to himself about it outloud.”

Dean huffs. Was that the day Cas had turned down the sandwich Dean had made him? Had he been too full of  _ celery _ ?

He knew intellectually that a) celery wouldn't fill anyone up and b) Cas was an angel. He didn’t want to eat sandwiches. He thought they tasted weird now.

Hold on— had he made ants on a log for  _ Sam _ ?

The memory of the pink and gold potion filtered back into his mind. Oh, surly fucknig not.

He had to talk to Cas. As soon as possible. They needed to get this sorted out and if there was any chance that Cas was— well. He had to talk to him.

<3<3<3

_ You have to talk to Cas, _ Dean reminds himself— still standing outside Cas’ door a whole forty-five minutes later.

Finally, he knocks. Sharp, twice. Shuffling from inside. Dean looks closely at the tiles on the wall. Some dirt in the grout. He should take care of that before they tromped off on their next hunt.

The door opens in front of him. Cas stands there, frowning— surprise, surprise. His mouth looks kinda wet, which—

Dean clears his throat. “You free?” He asks, pushing his way inside the room.

Cas huffs but shuffles aside, eyes heavy. Sleepy-looking almost. Dean cast his gaze round the room.

Pristine. He bites back a snarl. He had dropped off Cas's duffle when they got back the other day and it had been a mess, like usual. Pilfered shirts and items from gas station gift shops, postcards and key chains and more air fresheners than would ever possibly smell good combined had littered the now clear surfaces. 

Now it looks almost like—

Almost like Cas had packed.

Dean bites down the panic and tries to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Going somewhere? Found a new hunt?”

Cas looks at him, and something about how he does it puts Dean’s teeth on edge. “No.”

“No to  _ which _ , Cas? Come on— you’ve gotten better at conversation than this.” Dean spits. He can feel the anger rising in him. He really is trying to fight it down but—

“To the hunt, I suppose.” Cas says, tone all nipped and tucked. Tight.

“So you’re going somewhere?” His throat burns. It feels like acid reflux, but Dean knows it’s something else entirely. 

“Dean—”

Dean scoffs. He doesn’t particularly want to hear whatever tepid excuse Cas has come up with today. “Figures. About time, I suppose.”

Across the room, Cas grows cold. And, yeah. Look. Sometimes Dean forgets his best friend is an unknowable, ancient and frightening being— not animal, plant or mineral. Something so wholly alien that… Well. It’s alien. Call him Fox Mulder, he supposes.

But times like this, he forgets what feeling relaxed and sleepy and lazy with Cas is like. When the feeling lances through his limbs, frigid and abrupt. When he remembers his best friend is an alien who can wipe him off the face of the earth with a snap of his fingers.

Well that’s when things get a little complicated. Dean squirms. Feels heat flow to his cheeks to make up for how cold the room is.

“And just what is that supposed to mean?” Cas demands, sharp. Dean turns away from him, hands clenching his fists at his side, then relaxing again. Clench, and then ease.

“It means that you skipping town isn’t exactly  _ new _ , Cas.”

An offended noise. Dean wants to know what face Cas is making but he can’t turn and look because then—

A hand lands on his shoulder and Dean is bodily whirled around. 

Because then  _ that _ wouldn’t happen.

He’s slammed into the wall, Cas up in his face. Blazing and so frozen cold. It feels like holding an ice cube in his mouth. Dean swallows. His throat aches.

“I did not say I was ‘skipping town’ _ — _ ” he’s hissing with rage, mouth twisting around the words. His hands are busy pushing Dean against the wall, rough and solid and like something to push up against— Dean can hear the air quotes anyway, is the point. “You are putting words in my mouth, yet again—”

“When have I ever—”  _ Don't think about Cas saying mouth,  _ don't  _ think about how close his mouth— _

“When do you  _ not _ , Dean!” His nose brushes against Dean’s and Cas is practically chewing at the air, something knocked loose in him. “You are constantly assuming— you  _ seem _ to know everything I think and feel—“

“What are you  _ talking _ about, man!” Dean’s voice has snuck a little higher and he clears his throat, tugging at Castiel’s hands. Nope. Locked into him tight.

“You know exactly—“ Cas stops. Different from the way he did earlier. His expression is suddenly locked on his face, still. Not the vital fury and frustration it was a second ago. Then Cas’s nose starts to bleed.

Cas doesn’t move for a second, one hand easing off of Dean and reaching up, a new emotion sneaking in behind his eyes. He draws his fingertips away and looks at the bright red blood. Almost orange in the light of the lamp in the corner. There’s a half second of pure stillness between the two of them. Cas’s eyes flick up and lock with Dean’s.

Dean suddenly recognizes the emotion that snuck in Cas’ back door. It’s fear.

Then he’s being dropped. He lands a little awkwardly on the floor, staggering wide as Cas whirls away and out the door without another word.

Dean stands there in Cas’s empty room, breathing heavily.

“What the fuck was that.” He whispers to himself.

He starts walking out of the room but his body is still too… He doesn’t know what. Loose? Wiggly? Tight? Jerky? He doesn’t know how to describe it— but he knocks over the garbage can on the way out.

He considers leaving it, a ‘fuck you’. A ‘clean up your own messes’. A desperate reminder that even if all Cas leaves behind is garbage it’s  _ something _ .

But he can’t bring himself to commit. He kneels down, knees popping all the way, and starts gathering the junk dubbed worthy of trashhood by an angel. He finds a snack size bag of chips, empty. And not a flavour he recognizes— maybe from out of the states. A few receipts and a plastic bag from a Gas-n-Sip. But that’s when he sees a glimpse of red down at the bottom of the can.

Good lord is he really going to…? Putting a few bits of junk back into a can is one thing but—

Dean sighs and rolls up one of the receipts, poking around at the bottom of the can.

Plastered against it is several inches of bloody tissues— soaked through. Dean feels his blood run cold. They hold a shimmer of gold. The potion… the potion  _ did _ have an effect. And it was killing Cas.

Okay— he wasn’t sure Cas was dying. Maybe it. Maybe it was just dry in his room. Maybe Dean needs to invest in a humidifier for the bunker. Dean’s already on his feet and headed to Sam, bloody tissues clutched tight in his fist, receipt abandoned by the rest of the spilled trash.

He’ll think about how gross it is later.

He hesitates a moment in the doorway and turns and snatches the rest of the trash bin. Sam may need further evidence Dean isn’t acting crazy. And it’s a lot of blood.

A lot.

Dean bites down on the feeling crawling up his spine and storms toward the library.

Cas is already there, voice desperate and clipped. “Sam please, just—“

“I would Cas— I’m not holding out on you on purpose. I just don’t know—“

Dean barges in. Throws the trash can on the table. It rolls around to face Sam, bloody tissues sticking together, gloopy. It rolls softly to a halt and one that was stuck to the top of the inside makes a soft  _ sluph _ -ing noise as it falls down with the others.

Sam looks deeply repulsed. Cas looks horrified.

“Anyone care to  _ fucking _ explain.” Dean isn’t really asking. Cas’ hand darts up to his nose, fleeting but completely transparent. “That’s what I thought. Cas when they fuck where you going to tell us you were bleeding out through the nose for days?”

Sam turns in his chair and looks up at Cas, suddenly looking very concerned.

Dean can’t stop himself from snapping at Sam, “I  _ told _ you there was something wrong with him. Did you listen? No! Just went on and on about your stupid farmers’ market dates! And how Cas is always so  _ sweet _ to you—!”

He stops himself. Not before Sam gives him a look. But he stops himself.

Cas still isn’t saying anything. His mouth hangs a little open, like he wants to but he just… doesn’t.

Sam lays a soft hand on Cas’s arm, “Hey man… are you okay?” His voice is cautious. God, it’s driving Dean insane. He can  _ feel  _ himself going insane. Something is scratching at the inside of his skull and god, he hopes it breaks through soon so that some of this pressure can find a release—

“Come on Sam. It ain’t rocket science.”

Sam looks at him, brow furrowed. Cas turns his terrified gaze to Dean. God, the last time he had seen that expression was years ago, at the brothel. Lost and cracked open, so out of his depth.

“Dean, dont.” Cas says. It’s… he’s pleading. Cas is begging him to stay silent. That more than anything solidifies the feeling in his chest, gasping and wanting so badly to be wrong— god, he wants to be wrong—

“Cas. Your life is in danger. Sam’s gotta know. Maybe he can figure out how to break it.”

“Break… what?” Sam asks, frowning, his forehead creased, eyebrows pulled up in the center.

“The potion, Sam. The angel emotion stuff didn’t mean anything. He still fell in love.” 

Sam gasps a little, taken aback. Cas looks like he’s about to cry. Dean can’t look at him, the guilt gathering in his mouth like saliva before vomiting. “With  _ you _ , Sam.”

Sam goes from concerned to incredulous in a heartbeat. Cas continue to say nothing. Dean continues to not look at him.

Maybe they do need a humidifier. Dean is finding it hard to breathe in here.

“Gotta press a suit I guess. To walk you down the aisle there, Sammy.” God, he’s actually choking up. “My baby boy’s all grown up.”

“Okay, first? Shut it.” Sam points at Dean, holds it a second. Ensuring Dean is doing as he’s told. “Second. Cas is that why you were trying to get me to find the catalogue books? You coulda just told me. We’ll find a cure, buddy. Don’t worry.” Sam smacks Cas on the shoulder.

Cas’s body rocks with the impact and his eyes are fixed on Dean. 

And the guilt’s back. Cas just had to turn his big puppy eyes on Dean and it’s like the carpet is yanked out from under him.

“I’m not sorry.” Dean says, instead of apologizing. Frustration and anger looks so much better on Cas’ face. “You were gunna kill yourself by not telling us this shit, Cas! I’m sorry you’re embarrassed but there’s more important shit going on! What would we do if we lost you? And the next big-bad turns up? What would we do Cas?”

_ What would I do? _

Cas almost snarls. It’s a near thing. Instead he turns and walks out the door. And away from Dean. For a second time within the hour. He pauses in the doorway and over his shoulder he says to Sam, “The cure. Then I’m leaving.”

He sweeps the rest of the way out of the room, and Dean sends Cas’s garbage can rocketing across the room with a swift and furious swat. It clangs against the floor and bounces a few times, bloody tissues rolling out of it.

“I’m not cleaning that up,” says Sam, soft. Dean has had it up to here with Sam being soft.

“Fucking whatever, Sam. Just get Cas fixed and out the goddamn door, I guess.” He storms away, not sure where he is going. Just that he has to be somewhere else.

<3<3<3

Dean ends up in the kitchen, grabbing a six pack before leaving the bunker and flopping down on Cas’s bench. He pops off one of the tops but just holds it between his knees as he stares at the cold earth. It’s still early spring, sunlight watery and grey. Still too bright out here.

The first time Cas had parked himself on this bench, Dean had gone crazy. He’d been ripping the bunker apart before Sam suggested, dryly, that maybe Cas had gone out for some fresh air. Dean hadn’t even known there was a bench out here, much less the twisted, thorny raspberry cane that Cas had been engrossed with. He hadn’t even noticed Dean had come out, just had a pair of safety scissors in hand he must have found inside the bunker and was carefully trimming back the plant, mouthing things wordlessly to it.

It had sprouted perfect red berries the next week, round and heavy with juice. Bigger than anything Dean had seen growing in the wild. Cas had been so pleased Dean showed him how to make a jelly. Promised that the next year they’d put in some more berry bushes. Enough for a pie.

Cas had beamed at him. That stupid gummy grin that seemed to burst out of him when he was relieved or something he wanted came together. His sunshine smile.

Now, Dean reaches up and rolls one of the raspberry canes between his fingers, pricking it. Blood beading out of the tiny puncture. It stings. Dean sucked it into his mouth.

He and Cas had spent a lot of time on a lot of benches. Sitting in playgrounds like weirdos without kids. But Cas always looks at home on them. Like a pew. Like he belonged there, belonged praying at the altar of nature and wilds and kids‘ games of tag. Holy and human all at once.

Dean shook out his hand, eyes still stinging. Weird how a papercut or a thorn always hurt so much more than a solid gash or a broken bone. Probably the shock helped. Dean rubbed at his forehead.

He let his hand fall to his lap again. Felt the loose weight there. Let it dangle. It brushed against his still full beer. Dean took a half hearted sip and then set it on the cold earth.

Cas had been ready to let himself drop dead. Because he didn’t want to get a little embaressed about a stupid love potion some idiot dudes made a hundred years ago. Was being vulnerable with them really that hard. Really that much of a fucking chore Cas would literally rather die?

He lets himself cry. He’s been drinking, after all. And the sun is too bright. And Cas is leaving.

<3<3<3

He comes in from the cold dark eventually, sun long set and chill sunk into his bones. Spring nights are still cool enough to drive him off.

So, Dean comes in. He goes to the kitchen. Puts the empty six pack sleeve and bottles in the recycling. He starts cooking dinner. Not Cas’s favourite, because that would make it obvious he was trying to bribe him into staying. His second favourite. Sam had picked up some fresh eggplant so he breaded it, started on the pasta. Let himself settle into the rhythm. He knew how to cook for his family. That he could do.

Sam eventually comes in, covered in dust.

“You fix ‘im?” Dean grunts, after a while of Sam sitting soundlessly at the island.

“Not yet. We found the info but…”

Dean grabs another beer out of the fridge. Flicks the screw top off into a corner. He’d get it later. “What’s the hold up?”

“Well—“

Cas comes in. Dean stops listening to Sam, but doesn’t turn to the doorway.

“Hey, Cas.” Sometimes Dean’s own voice will surprise him. Deeper than he thought, sometimes cracking with no warning, other times just a rasp when he tries to speak. Right now it’s the softest he’s heard it in a long time.

Cas doesn’t reply, but he comes over to Dean and starts grating the parmesan, and doesn’t move away when they bump elbows.

Dean doesn’t have the excuse of the sun in an underground bunker well past nightfall. But he feels his eyes prick anyway.

Dinner comes out perfect. He and Cas know how to move around each other in this kitchen. Have made this food over and over. Know the steps. If Sam had turned on music it could have been a dance.

But Sam didn’t, and so it wasn’t. And Cas was under a spell to be in love with Dean’s little brother.

They plate it up; Sam gets the orange plate with a chip in the rim. Dean gets the one with the fall motif running around the edge, deer eating in an unchanging circle as the leaves about them turn red. Cas gets the blue plate with the texture he loves— not smooth. Enough tooth that Cas has to wrestle the sauce off the plate and the fork scrapes across with a nice noise.

No one’s talking, but in the way the three of them never do. Easy and familiar. Dean feels better knowing they found a cure, just haven't put it in motion yet. Even if the instant they do, Cas will be gone.

But for now they have dinner.

They finish up. Sam starts rinsing the plates. He doesn’t hum like he normally does. Dean puts a finer on the back of Cas’s wrist, gestures to the hallway. Cas nods and takes a last gulp of water, bringing it over to Sam who takes it without looking and grabs the sponge from the side of the sink.

Dean turns away and walks down the hall. The ache in his throat is back, and he’s having trouble pretending it’s anything other than sadness. Cas comes out of the kitchen and leans against the wall beside Dean.

“So this miracle cure…” Dean says. His voice scratches on the way out.

Cas nods beside him, taking another moment in his own silence. “Yes. It’s… It’s simple enough.”

Dean nods back, looking across the hallway at the wall. The tile gleams a little in the overhead lights. “So what’s the hold up?”

“It’s… It’s going to change things.”

Dean’s eyebrows rocket up. “Yeah, but... So will you leaving.”

Cas makes a non-committal noise low in his throat, and Dean barrels forward without his own permission.

“Unless you wanted to… sleep on it.” 

Cas laces his hands together in front of him. “Yes. Sleeping on it… May be in order.”

Dean nods again. Apology offered and accepted, it seemed.

“So… why will the cure change things?”

“It’s a kiss.”

“That’s it? One measly little kiss?” He turns to look at Cas. “I mean hell, I could kiss you right now. It doesn’t mean much, especially if it’s going to save your life, Cas. I’m sure Sammy won't mind. And if he does we  _ will _ have words and find another way.”

Cas is looking at him, blue eyes round, like Dean has said something groundbreaking. World altering. He swears there’s a full anime star twinkle of wonder lurking there. Dean’s breathing gets a little fuzzy, He laughs, it sounds wrong. “What?”

“You’d kiss me?” Cas asks, low and unsure, eyes still wide and so shiny.

“I-uh-... I mean, Cas—“ He stops himself, “If it would save you? Yeah. ‘Course. It’s you, Cas.”

Cas’s breath hitches. He blinks once, slow and heavy. Then he’s kissing Dean.

He doesn’t even have time to question it; just sucks a sharp breath in through his nose as his hand shoots up to cradle Cas’s jaw. His fingers warmed up an hour ago so he doesn’t shock Cas with the temperature difference as he rolls his thumb over the divot on his chin, which— yes, finally,  _ yes _ . Cas makes a little noise and Dean pushes in closer, chasing it. 

He pushes Cas into the wall and tilts his head. Cas’s fingers brush just above his belt on his hip and Dean’s skin erupts into shivers. His mouth drops open half an inch and Cas licks into him, warm and heady. Dean feels his knees starting to go. He pulls back a half a breath to suck air in and moves to kiss him again but Cas is several feet away.

Dean tries to open his eyes. Blink himself free of that kiss- holy  _ hell _ that kiss. Why weren’t they still kissing?

“Thank you, Dean. I should be cured now.”

Dean has been punched in the windpipe before. You don’t do his job without taking a few cheap hits. It forces all the air out of you, feels like you’ll never breathe again. If it’s hard enough your trachea can get really fucked up.

This is worse.

The professional, collected way Cas is standing. The distant look in his eyes. Contrasted against his kiss reddened lips. Against the little divot Dean had finally got to push his thumb into perfectly. 

“Wh…” He can’t really speak yet.

“I really do appreciate it. And I… I will stay the night, at least. To sleep on it.” Cas says, soft for a moment before pulling himself back together, “If you. If you need me out by the morning please send a text. I can be gone whenever you want me out.”

And Cas leaves. Not the bunker, just… walks away. Goes to his room. Like none of that had meant anything.

And with dawning horror, Dean realizes it didn’t.

He careens into the kitchen, uses the molding to swing himself through the door. Sam is still scrubbing at the pasta pot. He looks up as he sees Dean stumble in.

“ _ Me _ ? It was—? Cas was cursed to love me—?”

Sam holds up sudsy hands, ready to talk him down. Opens his mouth to do so, but Dean keeps talking.

“But he— he—! He refused to spend time with me all week! He kept fighting with me! He wants to  _ move out _ ! He stopped—”  _ kissing me! _

God. What the hell.

Sam’s dried his hands by now and leans against the counter, crossing his arms. “Yeah. And he treated me the exact same way he always does.”

Dean looks up, unable to shove anything anywhere and is just. Caught up. Whirled around in this riptide of— everything.

“Even the ants on a log?”

“Yeah, dude, it’s our silent reading snack.” He pauses, lets Dean absorb this. “So. I wonder what changed for him.” Sam asks, casual-like. “Gosh. Someone could even ask him that, if they wanted to know something like that.”

“Sam, it doesn't make  _ sense- _ !”

“Well. I’m not going to be able to explain it to you.” Again. So matter of fact. So blunt. “But I am available to walk you down any aisles you may encounter.”

Dean stops up short. Did… “... Sam?”

“I love you, Dean. You’re my big brother. And… also kinda my dad. And  _ also _ kinda my mom. Anyways. I don’t care. Just want you and Cas to be happy. And you can only do that if you ask  _ him _ what’s been going on.”

Dean's hand tightens where it still rests against the doorframe. He had just come out to his little brother. Kind of. And it had been fine. Like… weird. But, fine. And he had just kissed his best friend. And been very upset about not being able to kiss him again.

“Come on, Dean. Do you love him?”

“Don't be ridiculous.” A beat. “Yes.”

“Then go love him. Coward,” Sam says, with a grin. He looks five years younger and Dean’s chest aches.

“Right.” Dean pats the doorframe one last time. Then he leaves Sam to the dishes. It’s only fair, they cooked dinner.

He goes to find Cas.

<3<3<3

Dean stands in front of Castiel’s door. It hasn’t been forty-five minutes this time, which is something. But he still hasn’t been able to move. The weird sort of jubilation and confusion that came from his conversation with Sam had drained out of him the more steps away from the kitchen he took. 

And now he was standing here again, grout still unscrubbed and Dean still unzipped.

“I said you could just text me.” Cas says through the door. Close to it too. Dean wonders how long they've been standing a foot from each other, both too nervous to do anything. To make the first move. To be vulnerable first.

Suddenly all Dean wants to do is see Cas. His best friend Cas.

He puts his hand on the door handle. Turns it slowly, letting Cas keep it closed if he wants. He isn't stopped. He opens the door and there is Cas.

“You said to text you if I wanted you out by morning. That isn’t what I want.”

“Oh.” Cas looks surprised, then heartbroken, then angry. “I know I don’t need to sleep, but trying to kick me out right away is just… it’s rude, Dean. This, whether you want it to or not. This has become my home as well— I’d like to say a proper goodbye to it—“

“Cas, Cas, hey. I don’t want you out at all. That’s the—“ He swallows. “That’s the last thing I want.”

Cas lets his hands drop from where they had raised a little. Anger has always animated him.

“Oh.”

“Sam said I should talk to you about what's been going on. This past week, or whatever.” Cas sighs and his shoulders slump.

“Yes that… Seems inevitable.” Cas still doesn't speak. He turns and sits on the bed, gesturing toward the chair by the desk.

Dean sits beside him on the bed.

Cas blinks, some of that confusion back. A glimpse of contentedness lingering under it.

It’s nice. It’s really nice.

“Obviously… It was you.” Cas says, softly. Dean nods. Cas seems to make a choice, broadening his shoulders and taking a long breath, “But it’s always been you, Dean. When you taught me free will I chose you. And I kept choosing you.”

Electricity buzzes in Deans palms. “Oh.”

“My love for you—” They both swallow at the same time. The plausible deniability is gone. Out the window.  _ Good _ . “My love for you has always been my choice. And. I have always wanted it. It’s been something that is totally mine, even when I had nothing. I knew my love for you was mine.”

Dean is swaying forward, bit by bit. Cas raises his hand and snags Dean’s sleeve, worrying the hem between his fingers, breathing slowly though his mouth. It washes warm against Dean's face. It’s intoxicating. “This spell… It took that from me. It changed it. I loved you yes but... more shallowly. I wanted to press myself against you, curve myself to your every need, be whatever you wanted.”

“Free will. The spell took your free will. Tried to make you...conform to me.”

Cas nodded, “And hurt me when I didn’t.”

Dean winces. His hand hesitates before landing on Cas's wrist. Tentative. “That must have felt awful.”

“Yes.” Cas says, simply and blunt. And oh, Dean  _ loved _ him. “My free will is why I love you. It’s why I fell for you, you could say.” A sardonic twist to his lips. And Dean loves him.

“Same.” Dean breathes. Cas looks up, eyes once again full of that shimmer and shine. Hope, Dean realizes.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Dean nods and Cas meets him in the middle of one, stealing his breath with another kiss.

And it’s so warm.

**Author's Note:**

> Uh like. Havent seen spn past season 8 so iF BUNKER LORE is messed up pls forgive me. I just love gay angel of the lord castiel and i think they two of them should have kissed so i wrote a silly love potion au about it :/ pls lmk if you liked it!!
> 
> OH ALSO i stole the 'do you love him' exchange from a show w david tenant in it. uh casanova i think? idk i've seen a thirty second clip on tumblr and it made me crazy it's. SO dean. 
> 
> Thank you saltslimes for the beta work <3


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